


Can't Say No to a Girl Like That

by Ageless_Daughter



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Plug, Blow Jobs, Car Sex, Crossdressing, Feminization, First Dates, M/M, Seduction, Underage Sex, Weecest, Wincest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-09
Updated: 2015-02-10
Packaged: 2018-02-16 16:58:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2277618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ageless_Daughter/pseuds/Ageless_Daughter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean knows they shouldn't do this again. Even though Sammy's been acting weird. Even though he says "I needed you" and he looks so pretty with his hair cut like that. Even though he's right here, right against Dean, even though he's got something special on under that old AC/DC shirt.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Underneath

**Author's Note:**

> My second fic ever, very much shorter than the first. I hope you love it!

“Sam.”

No answer.

“Sam.” Dean pounds both fists on the door, making it shake nearly off the hinges. “Sam! SAM. SAM!”

“Dean I just need – Just give me another minute…”

“I’m gonna pee all over your god damn bed if you don’t let me in there! What are you doing anyways? It’s been like half an hour!”

“I’m… Just hold on! I need to…” Sam is literally whining from inside the bathroom, clattering around and turning the water on and off. Dean slams his palms into the door and rests his forehead against it. After a few beats, he can hear the door handle jiggle a bit, so he leans back, allowing Sam to (finally) let him in. When he does, the first thing Dean notices it the redness of his face, but it doesn’t look like an embarrassed flush or anything. It looks like he was scrubbing the fuck out of it in there, like he took a few layers of skin right off.

“Sammy what –”

“Sam.”

“Whatever. What’s wrong with your face? What the hell were you doing?”

Sam just mumbles something under his breath, hiding his irritated face, and pushes past Dean’s body into the hall. Dean shrugs and decides his need to pee is much more important than his weird fourteen year old brother’s patchy red cheeks. 

In the quiet of the bathroom, Dean remembers another weird Sam situation the other day. When he got off work at the local body shop early, and came through the front door with ice cream as a surprise, he saw Sammy through the open bathroom door at the end of the hall. At first he hadn’t thought anything was weird, but then he noticed Sam was leaning really far over the sink, staring at himself closely in the mirror. Sam turned towards Dean with a look of horror and surprise, slamming the door, but not before Dean noticed the array of things all over the counter. He didn’t know what they were from his short look, but he could tell Sammy didn’t want him to know, either.

Dean washes his hands and shakes his head. What’s gotten into his little brother? When he comes back out, the door to their room is closed, and locked, he finds out, when he tries the door knob.

“Oh, c’mon, Sammy. What the hell is going on?” Dean sighs and waits for Sam to unlock it and let him in. His face is red still, but this time it does look more like he's embarrassed. Dean pokes him and tickles him and even licks his face, but Sam won’t give, won’t tell him what’s up. It makes Dean’s insides twist uncomfortably.

Dean remembers being that age, stuck between a boy and a man, but he never had the time to act like this. He always had Sam to look after, his mind on making sure there was milk in the fridge, money in the coffee can, and clean clothes for his little brother to wear. Said little brother, however, is in a different situation. One where he has all the time in the world to be a pain in the ass. With dad on a hunt two counties over for three weeks, which means he won’t be back for at least seven, and the fact that school just ended a few days ago, Sam is free to do all the moping, angsting, and hiding that he wants.

Dean leaves Sam to his emotions and goes into the kitchen to start on dinner, which, surprise, is coming out of a box. He rips the tear strip from the cardboard, and slides the package of frozen hamburgers out. He pulls at the plastic, but it only slips from his fingers, stretching the stupid bag.

“Oh, come on,” Dean pleads with the wrapping, trying with everything he has to at least break a hole in it. “FUCK!”

Scissors it is. He rummages through the junk drawer and the kitchen cabinets, but they are nowhere to be found. The hamburgers are starting to thaw, making bloody water gather in the bottom of the bag.

“SAM,” Dean yells when he gets to their bedroom door, “do you know where the fucking scissors are?”

“Yeah, I’ve got them in here, but oh my God DON’TCOMEIN! Can you just wait five minutes? Please?” Sam sounds embarrassed and rushed in there, like he’s up to no good.

“No, Sammy, I need them now. Dinner. Definitely more important than whatever you’re doing.” Dean shakes the handle with considerable force, and it actually causes the shitty hardware to come unlocked. Dean’s maniacal shout of laughter is cut short by Sam freaking out immediately.

“WHAT THE FUCK? DEAN! I told you to wait five minutes! And you couldn’t even do that?! GOD, I really hate you sometimes…”

But Dean’s not really listening because he’s confused. Because this doesn’t even look like his little brother. Because this? This is some pretty little thing with long hair curling around just the tops of slim angry shoulders, an ancient, loose AC/DC t-shirt hanging off one of them, and the ends of freshly cut bangs, judging by the scissors on the desk nearby, are pushed to the side, resting softly against a high, pale cheekbone.

“Guh…? Sorry. Just… The scissors. Can I… Take? The scissors?” Dean has to look away. Sammy looks so –

He has to look away.

Sam sighs and hands Dean the scissors, his long, slender fingers shaking. Dean snatches them and practically sprints from the room, slamming the door behind him. His heart is pounding in his ears. What the fuck was that? He hadn’t even noticed that Sam’s hair was that long, even though he’s been telling the kid to get it cut for months on end. And why did he cut his bangs? Dean had always been joking when he called Sam a girl, but now… And the t shirt, too, just come on. He’d had it all hanging off him like a chick, and now Dean just realized that it was his old t-shirt. Dean’s t-shirt. Fuck. FUCK.

“My God…” Dean stands up straight from where he was leaning his hands against the countertop, letting the blood return to his brain from you don’t need to know where. He runs a hand over his face and blinks his eyes a few times, like maybe it’ll erase what’s stuck there in his mind like an etch-a-sketch. He could be so lucky.

*******

The hamburgers are sizzling in the fry pan, Dean staring at them, nudging the browning patties around aimlessly with a fork, when he hears the bedroom door squeak open. He resists the urge to look over when Sam shuffles into the kitchen, threadbare socks sliding against the cracked 70s linoleum.

“Hamburgers?” Sam asks, obviously trying to ease the tension instead of being the source of it for once.

“Yep, they’ll be done in about five minutes.” Dean doesn’t mean for his words to come out so quick and sharp, but they do. They probably cut Sam a bit, but he doesn’t turn around to check for scratches. Can’t look. 

After a moment of filled silence, Sam moves to sit on the dirty plaid couch in the living room. He switches on their illegally obtained cable and Dean can hear him stop on the Discovery Channel. A documentary about monarch butterflies.

“Monarch butterflies are the most beautiful of all butterflies, some say, and are considered the king of the butterflies, hence the word ‘monarch’ being used in the name,” the narrator on the TV informs Sam. A beautiful king.

“Okay they’re done, Sammy boy.” Dean smiles when Sam grumbles something at the nickname. He puts the burgers on pieces of store brand white bread and makes sure to put all of Sam’s favorite toppings on one, even though he had to spend extra at the grocery store to buy them.

He sits down next to Sam in the living room and hands him his plate, still keeping his eyes away. The TV is now on college football, The Ohio State vs. Auburn, and Dean smiles to himself.

Dean is screaming at the TV and bouncing around on the couch cushions when Sam gathers up their dishes. His bare shoulder brushes under Dean’s chin when he reaches across, and Dean can smell Sam’s girly shampoo. He holds his breath for a minute, just until Sammy’s out of reach.

But when he comes back from rinsing of their dishes and setting them in the sink, he stands right in front of Dean, blocking the TV. Dean tries to ignore it, tries not to look up, but he has to when Sam clears his throat and crosses his arms.

He's still got on that slutty t-shirt, clinging to him like needy hands, and it’s so long that it comes to the middle of Sam’s thighs. Dean can just see that he’s wearing a tiny pair of gym shorts underneath.

“Well?” Sam breathes and flicks his hair out of his face, sending it over one shoulder gracefully. (Gracefully? What the fuck…)

“Well what, Sammy? You’re blocking the TV.” Dean can’t do this. He can’t.

“Fine.” Sam grabs the remote off of the makeshift coffee table and turns the TV off.

“What do you want?” Dean asks, irritated, but mostly scared and nervous and majorly confused.

“I want to know what you think.” Sam says and drops his hands to his sides, tilting his head to the left.

“Of what?”

“Of me.”

“I think you’re an annoying little shit who turned off the game I was watching, so if you don’t mind I’d really like to get back to –”

“Dean.” Sam whispers his name like it’s a prayer, like this is really important. So Dean looks him right in his hazel fox eyes and chews at his bottom lip. This is hard. This is something Dean’s not sure about, and he's supposed to know about Sammy. Supposed to know what to do.

“I don’t know Sam… I don’t know what you’re doing. I don’t know what you’re thinking. Jesus, you never even talk to me anymore… Just stay cooped up in your room all the time, doing God knows what. And I don’t know what this is, or whatever,” Dean waves a hand at Sam’s hair and his body, sighing when he can’t say anymore. He feels like he might cry for no reason.

“This is me, Dean. I want to look like this now.” Sam sits on the coffee table, his skinny knees turned in on each other, white hands clasped together.

“Sammy, come on, you look like a fucking…”

“A fucking what?”

“Jesus Christ.” Dean pushes up from the couch and walks towards the bedroom. He needs to shoot something. Right as he’s reaching for the door, he feels Sam’s cold fingers wrap around his wrist. He gives up so Sam can pull him back, push him against the hallway wall with a gentle shove.

“Dean, just look at me.” He does, and then regrets it. There are tears in Sammy’s eyes and his lips are pulled into a resisting frown. “I just want you to look at me again.”

“Sammy.” Dean breathes and puts his hands on Sam’s hips, letting the sharp edge of bone press into his palms. “You know we can’t do that anymore. I already told you no. I thought you understood.”

“I don’t, Dean. I don’t understand. Please. I thought you loved me.”

“Don’t fucking say that, Sam. Don’t you ever say that. You know I love you.” Dean presses his fingers harder into Sam’s skin, angry.

“Then love me.” Sam leans in and rests his lips on Dean’s shoulder, letting his long body sink slowly into the heat of Dean’s.

“No, Sam. You know it’s not right.” But he doesn’t push him away.

“I thought you’d like it if I looked like this. If I did this for you. I’ve been wanting to try it out. And I just knew you’d love it, love me. So here it is, Dean. Take it.”

“Sam.” He begins a protest, but Sam’s fingers sliding softly up and down his sides tell him to wait just another second.

“You told me it’s wrong because we’re brothers.” Sam plants a wet kiss against Dean’s throat, feeling him swallow a second after. 

“You told me it’s wrong because I’m so young.” His fingers wrap around Dean’s wrist and slowly ease his hand away from its death grip on Sam’s hip. 

“You told me it’s wrong because I’m a boy,” Sam finishes and pulls away to look into Dean’s eyes. “Well what if I wasn't a boy, then, Dean? What if we weren’t brothers?”

“Sam, what –”

“Touch me, Dean. Feel how wet I am for you already. We haven’t even kissed yet.” And then Sam pulls Dean’s hand behind him, pushes his fingers into the back of those tiny little shorts.

“Oh, fuck, Sammy.” Dean can feel silk inside, and lace on the edges, on the edges of the fucking panties Sam’s wearing. Sam eases Dean’s hand further down with a whine, until he can feel that the fabric’s all wet between Sam’s legs, like he really is wet.

“Yeah, Dean. See? Got me all worked up just from grabbing my hips, just from being near me.” Sam spreads his legs around Dean’s so he can bend his knees, making Dean’s fingers slide through the mess in his underwear.

“Shit, Sam. Stop, we need to stop. Oh, fuck.” He bites down on Sam’s shoulder to keep from saying what he really wants to when Sam grabs his hand again and forces Dean’s fingers inside his body. Three, right off.

“Ahnn, you always feel so good,” Sam whispers after he gasps at the intrusion, “I’ve missed this. Missed you. Felt so alone lately, I needed you, Dean…”

And Dean just can’t say no anymore. Because if Sam needs him, that’s the end of any discussion, he’ll drop everything when Sam says those words. Because Sam’s already prepared, he must have fingered himself open with an entire bottle of lube when Dean was cooking, it’s dripping from his ass, and he's wearing Dean’s old ratty shirt as a dress, and he smells like cheap drugstore perfume when Dean buries his nose into Sam’s neck.

“I missed you, too, baby. C’mon.” Dean spreads his slick fingers inside Sam, making him let out a hoarse noise of surprise, before dragging them both through the doorway. He tugs the giant t-shirt off Sam and throws it onto the floor, but gets caught up again, tangled in a web of searing lust.

“Oh, fuck, baby. Shit.”

No fucking way did Dean think this could get any worse, any better, but it just did. Sam’s got a slutty little bra on, too, with nothing really to it, just lacy fabric, a bow in the middle, and thin straps. One has fallen off his shoulder, and Dean realizes it was so he wouldn’t see it before, when the t-shirt was falling off as well. Sam just pushes the strap back up and stares right at Dean as he hooks his thumbs into the waistband of the skimpy gym shorts and pushes them down. Dean nearly passes out when he sees that the panties match that sexy little bra, the same shade of light pink. Sam’s cock is hard, only just contained by the tiny pair of silk underwear, leaking already.

“Lay down, Sammy.” Dean says and starts to unbuckle his pants. Sam backs up, losing his socks on the way, until his knees hit the end of the bed. Dean smiles at how Sam doesn’t stop looking at him the whole time, not even blinking, as he takes off his shirt. Sam crawls backwards up the bed, eyes scanning Dean’s chest, his arms, his hands. Dean has to palm his cock through his boxers when Sammy lays his head down on the pillows and just lets his legs fall apart.

“C’mon Dean, don’t tease me, I’m so wet for you…” Sam begs as Dean crawls up over Sam’s body. And Dean knows how wet he is, can see that the panties are a darker shade of pink between Sam’s thighs. Dean pulls his boxers off and Sam grabs at his cock with a greedy moan when it springs free. His hand is so perfect. Sammy is so perfect.

“Alright, Sammy. I’ll stop teasing, fuck your wet little pussy. Fuck my favorite girl.” He kisses Sam hard then, all tongue and teeth clicking together, so lost in Sam and what he’s done. Sam lets go of Dean’s cock and buries his hands in short gold brown hair, his fingernails scratching for purchase. Dean reaches down and pulls the panties to one side, shoving one finger into Sam’s hole so easily, just to feel it again. Then he gives Sam what he's been asking for, because that's his job. Because he wants to.

He slams forward in one smooth movement, and suddenly he's blinded by the pleasure of being inside Sam again. Sam just lets out a groan, long and low, clutching helplessly at Dean’s sweaty shoulders. Dean stays still for a few seconds, trying to remember this moment, so it will be enough, maybe next time he won’t be tempted to give into Sam when he begs.

“Dean, oh fuck. Come on, Dean. Fuck me. Fuck me.”

Dean pulls his hips back and then hitches them forward, slamming back in, so deep. Sam lets out a guttural groan, wrapping his legs around Dean’s hips. Dean sets a fast pace, snapping his hips forward and back, Sam meeting him with thrusts of his own. He's so wet, feels so much like a girl, Dean bites at his lips, trying to keep some of his sanity.

“Dean, Dean, Dean… Oh my god. Dean, oh, fuck, touch me. Touch me.” Sam is writhing under Dean like he wants to come but he doesn’t want this to stop. Dean moves to palm Sam’s cock through the little pink panties, but Sam leads his hand to his chest instead, pressing his fingers into one hard nipple. Dean squeezes his eyes shut and his thrusts falter, trying hard not to come, engulfed in the hot perfection of Sammy’s tight little body. He changes his position so he can rub at Sam’s lace covered chest, and –

“Oh, Dean! Fuck! Oh shitshitshit right there! Uhhh…” Sam yells and rolls his head around on the pillow. Dean nails that spot over and over and moves both hands into Sam’s hair for leverage, the bed slamming dangerously into the wall. Dean pulls at Sam’s soft, long hair, handfuls of it, making Sam tilt his head back, neck bent beautifully. Dean latches his mouth onto Sam’s neck and sucks at the smooth skin. He bites and licks, knowing that there’ll be proof of this tomorrow, and then slides his lips to Sam’s ear.

“You gonna come for me? Gonna squirt for me, Sammy? I heard you were one of those girls.” Sam whines at that and tightens his legs, he’s right on the edge. “Come for me, baby girl.”

And with another harsh tug at Sam’s hair, he's coming, muscles tightening, mouth open, eyes closed, fingernails drawing blood on Dean’s back. His hole tightens inconceivably around Dean’s cock, milking it like a girl would, so Dean falls off right after Sam. He thrusts weakly through the climax, his come filling Sam up, leaking out of his hole when Dean pushes in too deep. He kisses Sam’s neck over and over until he can’t stand it anymore and has to pull out of Sam’s wet heat. He rolls off onto his back, but immediately pulls Sam’s upper half onto his chest, long hair falling over Dean’s sweaty skin.

“I love you, Sam,” Dean whispers, “and you didn’t have to –”

“I know. But I wanted to, Dean. I think I like it.” The lace of Sam’s bra scratches against Dean’s side when he shifts.

“Okay, Sammy.” Dean smiles. He should tell Sam this really is the last time, that they can never do this again.

But he won’t do it. Instead, he’ll give Sam what he asks for. Because that's his job. Because he wants to.

Because, even though it’s wrong, he loves his baby brother.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please comment, guys and girls! And keep reading!


	2. Foutre

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam and Dean go on a romantic first date, and Sammy enjoys himself. Greatly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Second chapter of this fic, let me know if you guys want more!

“You ready?” Dean says through the wood of the bathroom door, his voice vibrating.

“No, Dean. I told you, I’ll come out when I’m done. You’re just going to have to wait.” Sam shakes his head and laughs at Dean’s impatience, looking at himself in the mirror again. He tilts his face this way and that, looking at the way just that little bit of makeup has made him look even more like a girl. He’s lined his eyes with dark grey, put pink shimmer on his eyelids, and dusted blush onto his cheeks so they look dewy and flushed. Sam runs his fingers through his hair and spritzes a little more hairspray in, to hold the waves he’d made with his (stolen) curling iron.

“Sam.”

“Dean, please. I’m almost ready.” Sam swipes some dark pink lip gloss over his mouth and steps back to admire the full picture. Not too bad. His shoulders are a little wide, and his waist isn’t –  
No. He’s not going to ruin this…

“Alright, you ready to see?” Sam asks Dean, who shuffles away from the door, his heart suddenly beating way too fast.

“Y-yeah, Sammy.”

The door opens and Dean’s lungs stop working for a second, that air whooshing out of him in one breath.

“Holy God. Shit, you look…”

Beautiful. Stunning. Like a wet dream? He doesn’t know which to say, none of them do this sight justice. A light blue skirt dotted with tiny red and yellow flowers rests at Sam’s waist, giving him an hourglass shape. His white tank top with red detailing hangs loosely from his slim shoulders, making the effortless waves of his hair look dark and shiny. Shiny pink lips quirk into a nervous smile, and Dean notices the shading around Sam’s eyes, making them look even more slanted and captivating.

“Dean?” he asks hesitantly, playing with the lacy bottom edge of the skirt, “Dean… Do you like it?”

“Of course, I do, baby. God, you… you look fucking amazing.” Dean’s still breathless, holding a hand over his heart where he can feel the thudthudthudthud of it there, trying desperately to break through his ribcage.

“You look really nice, too.” Sam smiles, a blush on his cheeks as he brushes his fingers through his bangs, nearly pulling out the small flower clip he put there.

And really, Dean does look great. This being their first date, he actually put some effort into what he looked like. He has on a dark brown henley, the buttons undone just far enough to make Sam lick his lips, a dark pair of really nice fitting jeans, and a heavy grey shirt on top.

 

For a moment, they just stand there, staring at each other, taking in the sight, the proposition of what they’re about to do hanging on the thick tension between them. A week ago was when Sam showed Dean this side of himself, the part that was feminine and shy. Since then, all Dean has thought about was showing Sam off, holding his hand in town, seeing the envious looks of other guys, staring at Sam’s ass. The thought makes a wave of jealousy hit him hard, but it feels good because he knows no one will have Sam except him.

He’s excited to go to a restaurant and pay, to go to the movies and make out in the back row, to visit the art and history museum an hour away, just because he knows Sammy would love it. This thing they have, it’s not going away, no matter how many times Dean used to wish for that. So, instead, he’s going to be a damn good boyfriend and a damn good brother.

“Well, just let me go grab my purse and then we can go…” Sam says, still in the bathroom doorway, before crossing over to Dean. Pushing up on his tiptoes, even though he doesn’t really need to, Sam plants a sweet kiss on the corner of Dean’s mouth. When Sam is out of sight, in their shared room, Dean lets himself break into a huge smile. Not that he’ll ever admit how excited he actually is.

“C’mon, babe,” Dean says, wrapping his arm around Sam’s accentuated waist after he comes back, yellow purse strung across his body.

“Love you, Dean,” Sam murmurs into the shoulder of Dean’s jacket.

“Love you, too, Sammy.”

******

The restaurant is called Aixois, and it takes about an hour to get there, in the heart of the city. When they arrive, Sam is smiling like an idiot, covering his face with his hands, fingernails a shade of light pink. Dean gets out after he pulls the Impala into a space and crosses to the passenger side to open Sam’s door for him. Lanky, pale arms squeeze around his neck the moment he eases the door open, Sam kissing the side of his face.

“Thank you.” Sam smiles into his neck, fingers tangling into Dean’s hair.

“C’mere,” Dean says softly and guides Sam’s lips to his own, trying is damndest to make it the sweetest, most heart melting kiss he can manage. It seems to work, because Sam’s knees go weak and he’s pressing his weight into Dean’s body, tongue swiping mindlessly across Dean’s. Someone cat calls from the sidewalk and Sam pulls away, fear burning in his eyes as he wipes his mouth.

“Hey, Sammy. It’s alright.” Dean comforts, sliding his hand around Sam’s waist. “We’re just a normal couple. Like everyone else. See?”

And he’s right. Sam looks at the patio of the restaurant, and there’s dozens of couples: teenagers, adults, even elderly people. They’re all smiling and laughing, underneath the black awning and soft lights.

“You don’t think they’ll notice?” Sam asks, leaning into Dean’s side as they make their way towards the front entrance.

“Not a chance. You’re the prettiest girl here,” Dean says before he presses a firm kiss to Sam’s temple.

“Bonsoir, et bienvenue á Aixois!” The hostess smiles at Dean when they walk through the oak front doors, while Sam tries to recover from the heat in his face from Dean’s comment.

“Hi, there. I have a reservation for 6:45 under ‘Winchester.’ I know we’re a bit early,” Dean says, very adult-like, and can’t keep the smile off of his lips when Sammy squeezes his hand.

“Oh, that’s just fine. We have your table ready,” the waitress says and gestures towards the dining room, “if you’ll just follow me.”

The restaurant is dark with just warm mood lighting, and romantic French music slides through the air. Deep red wood and black velvet make up each booth, the tables adorned with a set of three small candles. A young couple sits at one, enjoying their meal, and the girl smiles at Sam and waves. With a shy tilt of his head, Sam waves back, the attention and acknowledgement making his heart feel too big for his chest. He wonders if she can tell he’s a boy, for only a split second before letting it go. He’s trying not to worry on his first date with Dean.

“Here we are. Your server will be right over to get you started.” The hostess returns to the front of the restaurant, leaving Sam and Dean to sit and start looking over the menu. Sam can’t help but look around at the romantic setting, classic French art and décor on the walls, every piece in rich dark colors. He tries to think of how girls sit, crossing his legs under the table and placing his hands on his thigh, fingers entwined. Good enough.

“Hello! My name is Margaery and I will be your server this evening,” their waitress says when she stops at their table. “Can I start you two off with something to drink?”

“I’ll have a glass of water,” Sam answers quietly from underneath his bangs, hiding his face from the server.

“And the same for me.” Dean smiles and glances at Sam when Margaery leaves to get their waters. “Sammy?”

Sam looks up at Dean, and he's got his bottom lip pinched painfully between his teeth, and Dean can hear his hands scrunching and releasing the fabric of his skirt nervously.

“Sweetheart, what’s wrong?”

“Dean, I don’t know if this was a good idea…”

“Baby, why would you think that?” Dean reaches across the table and runs his fingertips softly up and down Sam’s arm, raising goose bumps.

“Just. Our waitress. She’s so pretty. And I’m not as pretty as her, she’ll know I’m really a boy Dean, I mean what’ll she –”

“Sammy. Stop.” Dean grabs more firmly at Sam’s arm, squeezing, “Look at me.”

“Dean…” Sam looks up after taking a deep breath, prying his eyes away from where they were glued to a spot on the table.

“Honey,” Dean says, smiling and holding Sam’s stare, “you’re my girl. You came in here with me and now everyone in here is jealous, knows I’ve found the most beautiful girl in the Midwest. Hell, in the whole fucking world.”

He leans forward and presses a hand to Sam’s other arm as well. He licks his lips, and Sam’s eyes lose his, just for that one moment.

“I’m not just saying this because I want you to be happy, or because it’s what you want to hear. I’m saying it because it’s the god damn truth, baby. You look absolutely gorgeous today, Sam. And you look just as beautiful every other day, even when you’re not wearing a sexy little skirt or you’ve got makeup on. You’re so perfect, Sammy. And you’re mine. My girl.”

“Oh, Dean!” Sam smiles stupidly wide and then lunges forward, closing the distance between their mouths, kissing Dean with all the love in the world, smiling and laughing between each bite and lick.

“Excuse me, I am so sorry.” It’s Margaery, and when Dean pulls away from Sam’s delicious raspberry lips, her face is red and she’s backing away slowly.

“Shit,” Sam whispers to himself and wipes his mouth as Dean smiles at the girl and waves her back over.

“It’s fine. We got a little –”

“Dean, please,” Sam says, hushed, and kicks him under the table, “Thank you for coming back with our drinks so quickly, we’re sorry we were so disrespectful.”

“No, no, no,” Margaery says as she sets their waters down, each with cucumbers and strawberries floating under the ice, “you have nothing to apologize for. There’s no trouble.”

Sam pushes his hair behind his ear and smiles politely up at her, showing his face for the first time. Her jaw drops a little and she gives a quiet laugh.

“I don’t mean to make my rudeness worse, but I don’t blame him for kissing you like that. Even I can appreciate how pretty you are, Miss.” Margaery twists her hands into her apron and smiles.

“Thank you. Wow. I…” Sam fumbles, heat coloring his cheeks.

“Only speaking the truth,” she laughs again, “I’ll give you a minute to look over the menu.”

******  
Dinner is wonderful, and expensive, but worth every penny. Sam orders a fancy salad, with slices of seasoned duck meat and a spicy sweet dressing. Of course, Dean goes with the Filet Mignon, knowing if he's going to get a steak at a French restaurant, there's no other way to swing it. When they finish their entrées, Dean orders the profiteroles for dessert, off of Margaery’s suggestion, and he licks some dark chocolate ganache from Sam’s mouth when no one’s looking.

It’s safe to say that Dean’s been hard in his brand new jeans since Sammy came out of that bathroom, and maybe even a little before. But the little gasp that springs from Sam’s shiny mouth when Dean secretly slides two fingers underneath the hem of that skirt, is what really does him in. However, Dean has vowed to be a gentleman, relatively, all day until they get back to the house, so he doesn’t say anything about the uncomfortable press of his zipper.

A bright pink sunset is alive when they get outside, Dean once again opening the Impala’s creaky door for Sammy. On the ride back, Sam stares out at the clouds, fading from pink to purple, and finally to deep blue. His attention drawn out the window, Dean has a chance to reach down and, as quietly as possible , relieve some of the pressure on his aching cock.

“Dean?”

“Shit!” Dean swerves, looking over. The little smirk Sam’s wearing, illuminated only by passing headlights, says he knows what Dean was doing. “Yeah, Sammy?”

The pitch black silence makes Dean nervous. Why couldn’t he wait until they got back, damn it?

But the next thing he knows, there are skinny fingers clawing at the fly of his jeans, scratching against denim and metal.

“SAMMY. Jesus Christ, stop it. Stop, Sammy, shit!” Dean lets out on an exhale, feebly swatting at Sam’s urgent hands.

“I’m gonna suck you right here in the car, Dean.”

“Oh, fuck. Sam, no, I was trying, ugn… I was trying to – to be a good boyfriend…” Dean can hardly breathe, Sammy getting his jeans undone and sliding his hand perfectly around Dean’s already leaking cock.

“You were, Dean, you are. Tonight was wonderful and amazing. But right now,” he growls in the most sexual tone Dean has ever heard, “you’re going to come all over my face.”

“God damn it, Sammy. Fuck.” And that’s all he can say before white hot wetness slides deliciously down his shaft, making his hips buck. He can feel that he's already too close, minutes, maybe seconds, away from tipping over the edge. Sammy moans like the flawless whore he is, sending tremors through Dean’s body.

Sam pulls off and looks up at Dean with lust black eyes. “Been thinking about this all day,” he groans, one hand jerking Dean brutally, “ever since I opened my ass up and plugged it wide for you, my mouth’s been watering. Fuck.”

“Oh, god, Sammy, shit, you – you what? You fucking pl–plugged… Fuck!” He can’t focus on the road with Sam sucking him so hard and loud, but he wants to get to the house as soon as possible, so he slows down, letting his right hand off the wheel.

“Yeah, Dean,” Sam whines between shoving Dean’s cock into the back of his throat and thrusting his tongue into the slit, “I’ll be ready for you when we get to the house – ohh… you can hold me, ah shit, hold me down and fuck right into me.”

“For fuck’s sake,” Dean grits, and reaches down with his right hand, pulling Sam’s skirt up off his wiggling ass. He has to bite his tongue until it bleeds so he doesn’t come when he sees the lace of Sam’s burgundy thong disappearing between the pale white of his ass cheeks. He slaps at Sam’s ass once before reaching further, feeling the smooth plastic of a plug, warm from Sam’s body.

“Jesus, so sexy, Sam. Shit, oh, shit, fuck, I’m going to – I’m coming, baby, fuck, oh! FUCK!” Dean yells and slams the plug into Sam’s body as his orgasm hits him like a freight train. He can hear Sam whimpering and pleading as Dean’s come paints his face and chest, ropes of it landing in his hair. He seizes and grips at the steering wheel, praying to God he doesn’t kill them both as wave after wave of pleasure crashes over him.

When he can finally open his eyes, his prick still twitching when Sam licks at the sensitive head, he sees that somehow, he managed to stop them on the side of the road. With an exhale, he looks down at Sam, and the sight makes his breath catch. Sam is laying on the seat on his back, skirt flung up over his stomach, his spent cock hardly contained by the lace of his tiny thong. Licking lightly at Dean’s cock, he rubs his own come into his belly, and Dean’s into his neck and collarbones. With a sigh and the most irresistible smile, he squirms on the seat and lets his thighs fall open.

He bats his eyelashes, face splattered in come, and bites his bottom lip, running a hand up and down Dean’s chest.

“Let’s get home, Dean. Wanna ride you now.”

**Author's Note:**

> Please comment and leave kudos if this struck your fancy, it's what I LIVE FOR!
> 
> Seriously guys, comment. PLEASE.
> 
> Let me know if you'd appreciate more chapters


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